The Red Scarf
by korralations
Summary: A series of one-shots about Mako and Bolin growing up, both on and off the streets. Rated T for content/language.
1. The Scarf

**Masterarrowhead on tumblr drew a piece of fan art for this story. Take out the dots and enjoy! (This is also my tumblr) http:/korralations(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/19581675109/masterarrowhead-im-so-sorry-bol-i-got-you**

"Hey, Mako!" Korra laughs, skipping after him. With a laugh, the water shoots out of the brook, and freezes in front of him.

Mako turns to face her. "Where did you hide it?"

Korra giggles, sliding to an abrupt stop in front of him.

"You'll never know," she replies in a sing-song voice.

"Korra…" he warns.

Her smile begins to fade. "Do you really want to know where it is?"

"Yes," he growls. He stops to mollify his tone. "Yes, _please_."

"Too bad!" she yells, springing away again.

He runs toward her, and he finds that he's faster, and barely holds back a smirk. Of course he's faster, and of course she's too confident. He grabs her arm, and she spins around.

His expression must be more serious than he means it to be, because all traces of a smile fade from her eyes.

"Are you okay? Is the scarf really that important to you?"

* * *

><p>Mako dabs his mother's brow with the cold cloth, and her eyes drift open.<p>

"Hey," he chokes out, wiping her forehead as if he could wipe the sick right off.

"Hey," she sighs, smiling lightly, her hand rising a few inches from the bed.

"Don't," he insists, pushing her hand back down.

She coughs feebly, and her head turns to the side. Mako's gaze drifts to outside the window. Bolin is playing with a rock, boosting it up and down with his newfound earthbending. He giggles, and stomps the ground aggressively as the rock volleys back and forth.

"He's happy, isn't he?" his mother asks. Mako nods.

"Yeah. He is."

"He's only nine. You'll tell him, won't you?"

"Of course," Mako assents, pulling the blankets over her waist and to her neck.

She laughs, shivering and sweating at the same time, a haunting sound. He freezes, and her hand grabs his wrist weakly. He turns back to her.

"Mako. Listen to me, okay?"

"No. Don't do this," he begs. "Don't give a speech like you're dying."

"But I am."

It's the simple phrase that jars him most, he decides. Dad's gone. Mom is almost there. His stomach twists, and he swallows a lump in his throat.

"You have to take care of him, you know that."

"Yeah. Mom, relax."

"Relax?" she laughs again, and it is empty this time. Empty, biting. Hateful, even. "I'm dying. I can't relax. The plague is coming. And it came, and it got me. Okay? Me. And I'm trying so hard to fight it because you two need a parent, alright? But I can't."

It's her hysterical laughter, her incessant talking, that slow Mako down. First her laughs. Now this. He takes a shaky breath.

"I know. I'll get Bolin out of here."

Her face softens. "I know you will. We haven't paid our taxes. Take him and leave, alright?"

Of course they haven't paid their taxes. He had heard Mom talk about them, how they'd had no income since Dad died. He's seen what happened to people who didn't pay taxes. Or rather, he hasn't seen, since he never saw them again.

Mako's chin trembles.

"I love you, Mom."

Her chest shudders, and she cries out. Mako rubs her head with the cloth, and swallows the lump in his throat again. He can heal her, if only he _tries_ hard enough. He can. He won't let her die like Dad did.

_Be strong._

"I love you so much, Mako," she whispers, rasping in every breath. Her hand struggles to her chest, and Mako shakes his head.

"Please…" she begs, and he doesn't stop her. Her hand jerks slowly, painfully. It's hard to watch, but he forces himself to. Maybe if he stays with her long enough, maybe if he watches, maybe she'll live.

She feebly unwraps her scarf, soaked in sweat, and Mako rushes to help her.

"Take it," she murmurs. "Don't forget me, okay?"

"I won't, Mom," he promises, and in a fleeting moment of weakness, he feels self-pity. He's 11. Barely. He shouldn't have to go through this. He shakes himself, hates himself even. That's not important now. Nothing is.

"Bolin…" she begins, and her chest shudders. Her arm falls from her chest, and the scarf falls to the floor. _It's all falling._

He stops wiping her forehead, and he shakes her.

"Mom? Mom!"

Her eyes are dull. Her eyes, the way they'd sparkle when he used his firebending, when Bolin giggled. The way they'd light up every time her family walked through the door. They were dull, a cruel, cruel mockery of their previous life.

A breath tore out of her mouth, and Mako stirred in hope.

Stillness.

It was so silent, then suddenly, "hi-YA!"

He glances out at Bolin, and his strength halts.

Mako begins to cry, and he shoves the scarf in his inside jacket pocket, tearing out of the house in anger. Sobs bubble over, and Bolin skips up to him.

"Is Mommy okay?"

"She's fine," he replies angrily, grabbing his younger brother's hand.

"Mak-Mak?"

"She's FINE!" Mako yells, dragging him away from the house, away from her, away from everything.

"Mako, I wanna go home!" Bolin whines, tugging on Mako's hand.

"We can't! We can't, alright! Stop it, Bolin, we can't! We don't have a home, alright?"

"I wanna go to the house!"

"That house is not a damn home!" he yells. Oh no. Dad had told him not to use that word.

Bolin stops dead in the middle of the street, and his tiny chin trembles.

"I'm s-sorry," he whispers, so quiet that Mako almost doesn't hear him.

Mako kneels to the ground, pulling Bolin into his arms.

Bolin begins to cry, and Mako just holds him. He doesn't know what else to do. There isn't anything else to do.

"I'm so sorry, Bol. I got you, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

"Okey," Bolin replies, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand as he pulls away from his brother.

Mako grabs his hand again, leading him toward the slums of the city. He feels the pressure of the scarf inside his pocket, and wipes his nose.

No.

He won't forget her. Never.

* * *

><p>"No," he replies, turning away from Korra. "No. It's not. Forget about it."<p>

She reaches inside her pocket and pulls out the tattered scarf, holding it up for him.

"Here."

He takes it hesitantly, and drapes it around his neck haphazardly.

"Thank you.


	2. Street Fights

**_Mako's Age is the number in parenthesis in each of the titles by the way. So here, it's 12. Enjoy!_**

Mako kicks around the tattered blanket in their meager shack, sneering at it.

It's not going to keep Bolin warm, and he hates himself for it.

_Where is Bolin anyway? I sent him out for some food from the market, not a trip to the Fire Nation._

Mako scowls, stomping in to the streets. The kid makes it so damn hard to make sure he stays out of trouble, with the way he runs off all the time.

With an omniscient _pitter patter_, rain begins to drizzle down lazily, taunting Mako. The rain, how horrible it is, drenching him. He rearranges his scarf, pulls down his jacket as it rides up on his torso. It's too small, stupid piece of crap.

He hears the Republic City sirens in the distance, and it adds to the dreary sound of the rain permeating through his thin clothing, and he stomps through a back alley to the market.

How damn hard is it? All Bolin had to do was go down the main street to the market. An hour? No.

"Well, aren't you cute? Lost, you say?"

Mako slides against the wall before the corner of another alleyway. No. The last thing he needs is witnessing a fight.

"I am lost! I'm trying to find my way back home!"

At Bolin's desperate cries, Mako resists the urge to snarl. He whips around the corner, trying his hardest to look intimidating.

"Mako!" Bolin cries in excitement, eyes lighting up, and the two men turn, a wicked gleam in their eyes.

"Oh, are we playing savior now? This is just _endearing_. Well, pity for you two, this little rat here was on our territory."

"Let him go." He wills his voice to not shake, and he is satisfied when it doesn't.

"Why should we do that?" the taller man sneers, advancing toward Mako while the shorter man held down Bolin.

"He's only 10. Leave him alone!"

The man pouts, standing only a few paces from Mako. Mako looks him dead in the eye, those cold, unforgiving eyes, the color of mud and bad rainwater.

"And if we don't?"

"You… you better!"

The man grins, and spins around, sliding his foot out suddenly. A rock shoots up from under Bolin, hitting him in the side. Bolin cries out, and struggles against the man holding his arms.

"Stop it!" Mako insists, lunging for his brother. The tall man grabs Mako around the waist with a cackle.

"It's time you learned yourself a lesson!"

Mako struggles fruitlessly, kicking and clawing at the man, but he laughs.

"Go ahead!" he calls out, and the shorter man hits Bolin. Bolin screams as the man's finger braces scratch his cheek, and something inside Mako snaps.

"STOP IT!" he screams, voice rising an octave, and without a firebending position even, fire explodes around him, and the man bellows as he falls to the cement ground.

He writhes on the ground, and Mako leaps over him, aiming a stream of fire at the man. It doesn't matter what happens to them, they hurt Bolin.

_They hurt Bolin._

They deserve no sympathy, no second chances, and he offers none as his flames burn the man's face.

"M-Mako?" Bolin whimpers, touching his cheek in shock.

"No. None of that," Mako replies assuredly, propping Bolin up. "You doin' alright, bud?"

"Yeah," he replies, eyes wandering toward the still bodies of the thugs.

"C'mon. Don't look at that, okay? Let's get you home."

Bolin nods, grabbing onto Mako's pants loosely. Mako lights a small fire on his palm, trying to find his way through the now-darkened alleyway.

As Bolin curls up in their only blanket, Mako sits by the hole in the wall - which he has deemed the window - overridden with guilt.

He had killed two men.

Mako sets out a half an hour later to bury their bodies modestly, and he returns promptly to the house.

Even as the winter's chill cuts him to the bone, he sees Bolin's body rising up and down with his steady breaths, and Mako can't find it in himself to regret what he'd done.


	3. Brotherly Labor

_**A/N:** This one isn't as depressing as the other two were, but here's the next one! So, in this chapter, Mako is 13 and Bolin is 11, following this story's pattern of a chapter a year. I love your reviews, especially the long ones, and you guys are all so fabulous. If you follow me on tumblr, you'll have seen this before, but I added some things. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>"Mako, why do we have to do this?"<p>

Mako glances over at his younger brother, pushing the broom reluctantly.

He ignores his whining, aiming a carefully concentrated stream of fire above the water on the arena floor. The water sizzles in the heat, and lazy wisps of steam rise as the water evaporates.

_Damn waterbenders. Always have to leave shit behind. That's the great thing about us firebenders, we don't-_

"Mako, we've been at it all day!" Bolin's complaining breaks Mako's string of thoughts.

"C'mon, Bolin, just one more hour," he encourages. Bolin's 11. He shouldn't have to work this hard. Bolin's right this time, at least. It has been almost the whole day.

Mako looks up at the skylights. It's getting darker. He moves forward, and swears under his breath as his fire singes the stage. You_'ll have to paint over that later_, he reminds himself. He shakes himself and continues with getting rid of the water.

"Finished with the sweeping!" Bolin proclaims hurriedly, grabbing the broom near the bristles and marching over to Mako.

Mako meets him halfway, taking the broom from him.

"Wow, bud, this looks awesome!"

Bolin grins, and the grin is enough to give Mako energy to smile in return. "I bet Toza's fine with us using the Arena's kitchen, okay? I'll cook you something."

"Food!" Bolin cheers, sprinting full-out for the kitchen. Mako places the broom on the designated hook, jogging after Bolin.

"Whatcha gonna cook?" Bolin asks, excitedly bouncing in his seat. Mako kneels underneath the sink to pull out a box, and arranges the meager supply of food provided by Toza onto the table.

_Damn it. Toza forgot to go grocery shopping again. I'll have to ask him to stop by the market._

No. Mako knows as well as Toza does that it was more than kind of him to take them in as he did. He can't ask him for money or more food.

"This is all we have, Bol."

Bolin wrinkles his nose at the childhood nickname, and Mako resists rolling his eyes. That's right. Bolin's too _old_ for that now.

"Can you make anything out of that?"

Mako pokes around the uncooked rice package and the dried soy cubes. It's a far cry from what Mom used to make, and he knows that. Still, he won't let Bolin starve, not the way Mako had to when there was only food for one.

"Yeah, I'll make you soy rice, okay?"

Bolin sighs. "There's nothing better?"

"Bolin-" he warns, and Bolin waves him off.

"I know, I know, be thankful for what we have."

As Mako struggles with the cooking, he considers asking the Arena cook for advice. They don't have a mom or dad anymore, and Mako is going to try his damnedest to be both.

As soon as Mako hears Bolin snore for the first time later in the night, Mako slips from their loft and down the ladder, slinging his scarf over his shoulder. The chill of the night hits him, but it's not enough to cut to the bone, not like the nights used to get when… He throws away the thought and breathes a small gust of fire, warming the air around him.

"What're you doin' up?" he hears Toza grumble as he puffs out a ring of smoke from his pipe.

"I wanted to know if there were any extra jobs I could do for money," Mako explains.

Toza grunts in surprise, looking up from his lounging position against the wall. "What fer? Yer not into those hussy girls, are you? How old are ye, anyway? Thirteen? Eh, I guess if yer into that, but the prices are-"

"No," Mako interrupts before his cheeks start to heat up. "No. I need it for… for extra food."

He grunts again, and lifts his mouth to the pipe for another leisurely puff.

"I dunno what ye could do."

"Am I old enough for the Pro-Bending? I'm a pretty good firebender, I could-"

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen you firebend." Toza shoots Mako a look that clearly illustrates just how intelligent - or not - he thinks Mako is. "But yer 13, right? Ye gotta be 16."

"Yes, I remember," Mako reminds him, trying not to get irritated. "Isn't there anything else I can do?"

"Hm. Firebending, huh? Well, I know some of the team members'll want someone they can practice against. I'll tell yeh what, you come to the 'rena on yer days off and I'll pay ye 25 yuans a day."

25 yuans would buy them a meal or two. Mako does a few figures in his head._ If I work on both my days off, I could earn 50 yuans. I can make that work over seven days for meals for Bolin._

"I'll take the deal."

Toza snorts. "Of course ye will! Ye know, when I was yer age, we used to have to scrounge around on the streets fer a morsel of food! And the 'rena? Pshaw! It was a circle of mud. Mud, I tell ye…"

In the weeks to come, Mako finds himself creating new excuses for why he's covered in bruises to Bolin, why he comes home drenched in water or with cuts and burns on his cheeks.

The look on Bolin's face at the sight of fresh food makes it all worth it for Mako, and he feels as if perhaps he's doing something right.

Yes.

Maybe he's doing something right.


End file.
